


Hate

by Itrustyoutokillme



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/Itrustyoutokillme
Summary: Sara's POV post "The Key".





	Hate

I hate him. I hate the way he’s lied and I hate the way he’s done it so casually without remorse. I hate the way he shuts off and changes the subject when I question him. I don’t think I’ll ever get the answers I seek. And the most frustrating thing of all is the fact I hate the way I can’t hate him.

The way he reads into my every being with the most intense eyes I have ever seen in my life. The way he is so secretive all the time drives me crazy. It shouldn’t because there is nothing that can happen inside these four walls. It would only end badly for me because, well, he’s already inside.

I want to know things. I want to know him. What does the tattoo mean? It’s beautiful, a real work of art you could get lost in for hours. I dream of it you know. In it I trace the lines with my finger and it makes him shudder with delight. How I manage to keep my hands to myself every day I do not know.

Then the hate returns. He has a wife, a real spanner in the works wife. And I’m jealous. I seethe inside and he tries to explain. “It’s just business,” he says, which doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation. It just makes him sound mob-like. A real convict.

But I know he’s not. I hope he’s not. I read his file and I see this smart man with everything to live for, who throws it all away on a bank robbery. What kind of a man with a bank balance earning more interest than I do wages needs to rob a bank? More questions that I know I’ll never hear the answers to.

Just like some schoolgirl I wish we were together more often. I like being with him and indulging in the conversations we have. His deep, chocolaty voice drizzling through the air between us. And he makes me smile, he makes me laugh and he makes me feel whole. But then reality strikes and I remember who I am.

I am an addict. True to form I am addicted once again but there is no rehab for this. There is no rehab for Michael Scofield. Every day I get my dose, brought directly from the cell like some sort of contraband. That’s what he is, my contraband. I know I’m not allowed him, I know I shouldn’t have him and if I get caught with him, all hell will break lose. And yet, I can’t stop.

Addictions will ruin your life and the only thing you can do is sit and watch your world fall apart around you. But then, when you’re already a disowned addict scraping the barrel of life, you take what you can get.

You know, he kissed me. He kissed me and asked me to wait for him. Of course, I said yes…on the inside. Rational thought took over and let him down gently. He looked hurt and his voice no longer drizzled through the air. It cracked with pain and I knew right then I was his addiction. He begged and just like any good sponsor I said no.

Right now, I hate myself.

 


End file.
